And it became noon; then mid-afternoon.
Suddenly the water-hole appeared as a dark spot on the featureless landscape before them. Distinguishable only by the lichens that surrounded it.
They both broke into a shuffling, jerky trot. Leeda was yards behind Rick when he reached the mud-hole. Instead of flinging himself down to the moisture, he stiffened, then his voice broke into a babbling cackle. He pointed to the perma-metal sign staked in the watery mud. A Death's Head stood embossed on its surface; the Interplanetary symbols for DEATH etched into the age-resisting metal.
Then his hand moved like doom to the skeleton that lay, head touching the red mud, on the edge of the hole.
Ignoring Leeda completely, his voice broke into a hideous sing-song of wild laughter; and the word, "Poison," tumbled endlessly from his throat.
He stopped abruptly and turned to the desert. The lines of agony on his face smoothed out and the old sardonic grin twisted its way to his cheeks. Only his eyes gleamed madly. With a tremendous effort, he said loudly, "Water! There. Only a little way off."
And he staggered off into the desert, his arms extended eagerly, his hands fluttering aimlessly.